The falling flower man is independent, and the wisps fly together. Whose eyes did the light rain of apricot blossoms that year deceive?
In late spring, there was no one like her, walking with her in the apricot forest, picking apricot blossoms and making wine; on a midsummer night, there was no one like that, who would slowly accompany her with the lotus flowers while she was playing the piano, inviting her to travel with her among the lanterns all over the sky; In late autumn, there is no such person anymore. She is lying at her desk copying Buddhist scriptures among the fluttering yellow leaves, while he is reclining on the soft couch with his eyes closed to rest. When the snow falls in late winter, there is no such person anymore. He is holding her hand and walking with her through the snow to search for the fragrance of plum blossoms.
When the ripples of time rippled away in circles, everything returned to zero, and she and he would finally be together.